Poems by Regina M. Elliott

I ask of the night why it slips into my bedroom and
extinguishes Earth's light,
He replied softly, "I'm a jealous lover and my shade
of evening lies down beside you, as we bid the
augustness of the sun adieu."

I laugh and weep at the same time,
as I'm in love with the four season's soirees
he enchants my heart with.
Many years ago, walking slowly hand in hand
with my lifeguard lover on the sands of
Fire Island,
I thought love's charms would last,
his fire with starlight, jewels of moonlight,
and kisses-
with summer's wane he faded into
September's wooing embrace.

Yet glorious eventide was always there,
and, as he filled my eyes with the
swallow's flight,
he whispered breathlessly,
"You are mine to keep."

When I met the tall and amiable Vietnam War veteran,
my shyness showed,
yet, my throat dried and tightened when he softly
spoke the words, "The war never goes away."
All these humanity destroying wars never cease,
soldier's names, faces, their eyes so well-worn.
Their love letters sent home never faded in their
immortality,
the soldiers who made it home alive weren't
given a hero's welcome.

Their nightmares flashing as they wake up
sweating in their sheets in the dark,
yelling for respite from still hearing and being
in the firefight,
still seeing the VC,
and witnessing the life breaths leaving mortally
wounded brothers.
Descending into the night's loneliness,
the blue-gray of the t.v. on low volume,
the sobbing of a loyal wife.
Some marriages, families split apart with
crushing sadness,
many veterans homeless on U.S. streets,
such a heartbreaking shame shadowing over
the face of America the beauty.

Surviving veteran's hair becomes snow-white,
war wounds achingly arthritic,
memories of their war buddies still sweetly
preserved in their mind's images.
Vietnam War veteran's reunions as their
bones stiffen,
but still salute their brothers and sisters in arms,
their hats with the name of the war,
the pride of their service.

Many barely out of high school with brothers
of the same town,
the same state,
so much youth called up,
joining brothers from other regions of the U.S.
Blessed by God in their fraternity,
their bravery.
The deep red poppies represent their
precious blood.
I remember the 1960's-70's searing scars in
my mind,
weeping for the loss, the hurt in our hearts
over the Vietnam War.

MIA's, POW's,
disappeared as aging families still pray,
still wait.
In the local Veterans Cemetery,
I met a woman in her eighties,
she was a little confused,
couldn't recall where her Vietnam Veteran
son's grave was located.
She told me her daughter-in-law couldn't
bear to visit his grave.
We found his grave,
his name glistening in the dew of that gentle
May morning,
as wrens and sparrows sang on blossomed
boughs.
A chance encounter became such a gift to
honor her son,
and his mother.
To let her know he was not forgotten,
but cherished.
Welcome Home.

As the empathic moon pales of lustre of life,
and the downcast stars fall in the hour of lamentation,
unforgiveness has its own realm of misery.
Our anger and resentment strickens our lives,
smothers our love.

Still absent from one another,
we grow grayer into white.
The evefall speaks of barren dreams,
of words unsaid that could of professed
a healing pardon.
The unforgiveness borne on a catafalque,
yet, not unburdened, and still unburied.

Arriving in June's rose dawn hope
Nuanced with morning stars crowning the moon
Gliding in iridescent robes of light
Enveloping me, capturing my dreams
Lilting songs gentle as baby sighs

Kissing my cheek on a summertide Sunday
Intricate patterns of silver lacy wings
Sweet misty smiles
Sojourn of God's comforters

Stepping through the pine and holly wreathed front
entrance of the homeless shelter,
as a Christmas Eve snowfall decorated the city,
I carried a fresh turkey,
I heard joyous singing of adults and children as the
warmth of the lobby with a splendid bright Christmas
tree filled my spirit.
There was also the baritone voice of a man with
such a generous hearty laugh.
I became momentarily distracted by a t.v. on
low volume playing the vintage animated
"Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer" movie.

When suddenly a scent of peppermint and nutmeg
delighted my nose,
a flash of antique-red and faux fur white trim with
a long curly snow-white beard swirled that sparkled
with ice crystals.
There was a thumping on the roof,
and a resounding jingle of many bells.

I felt Christmases of long ago were here again,
a six year old me meticulously placing decorated
sugar snowmen cookies and hot cocoa by the
burning fireplace for St. Nicholas to pause and
enjoy,
I was soon asleep after laying down in my bed.
I know I just saw him there at the shelter,
the children weren't sleepy that Christmas Eve,
there appeared so many presents under the tree,
as their parents drank coffee finishing up servings
of pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream.

We can see Santa Claus year-round in so many
people,
you can feel him in someone's hug,
in the benevolence of family, friends, and
some strangers.
In giving of time or charity in food, money,
an embrace,
someone comforting you,
a pet cuddling you.
I know I saw him,
and so do many of you-
in the Christ Child we have peace.

On a sweltering humid July morning,
she was escorted by her best friend,
as they walked through whispered prayers
into a beige brick one story building.
She laid on a padded table in a cool
gray room.
She didn't want this, she felt coerced-
in youthful vulnerability she obeyed
her abandoning boyfriend.

Her goosebumps rose as she waited
in a mint-green cotton gown,
her shallow breath in and out,
her mouth and throat parched.
She looked up at overhead glaring
lights,
God's own.

She felt she just couldn't tell
her Mom,
the words wouldn't come forth,
a searing secret bitter on her tongue.
Fragments of jagged thoughts cutting
her psyche,
she was sweating cold through
her forehead.

The abortionist was as if an
anonymous shadow,
his voice distant,
flashes of kindergarten in her
eighteen year old's mind.
Waves of utter pain,
her heart pounding,
her ears thunderous with throbbing,
a sudden stillness,
God's own-
another of God's own,
returned to Him.

Of her gifts of nature,
once pristine flowing streams,
her green and blue majestic presence
in the infinite universe.
Jesus Christ left her in our care,
we must act now, not later-
for her survival.

Her earthly soul mourns as her
animals suffer, humans too,
her royal oceans with precious
marine life's waters sullied,
her rainforests plundered.
We must, as humanity,
rectify our trespasses against her.

Her polar regions sweating,
breaking off icebergs,
many of her kingdom species
endangered.
Stop the greed and the smokestacks
choking her air,
halt the pillaging of her resources-
for her survival.

Kings and queens of the timberland,
their pups learning their royal birthright,
running, running in freedom's natural gift,
as the winter ochre moon rises above the
ridge,
the pack howling in unison,
a music so enthralling.
Crystal blue eyes shudder the dawn,
please don't kill my wolves.

Oh, God no!
I cannot bear the thunderous rifles,
as they fell my spirit animals.
My heart asunder,
my soul bleeds with them in the
crimson snows.
Please don't kill my wolves,
Native American songs echo
through the pine forests as
their lamentation cries out-
please, please don't kill our wolves!

Of humanity's many members,
of smoky mountains standing in the clouds,
of the heavens You sprinkled with an infinity
of stars,
and valleys of the goodness of crops and
the moonlit magnolia trees,
oceans, lakes, rivers, and streams came
to life from You.
Of the joy of birds at the feeder,
I love You first.

My Jesus, my Christ,
the bats whoosh out of their caves at
twilight in their hunting of insects,
my grandchildren play on summer's
lawns with buttercups dotting the
expanse,
whilst autumn stirs in his slumber,
as the days age more for me,
I love You first.

You're my morning star,
my evening comfort,
I adore You most sweetly,
You came for me when others didn't,
to rescue me from the hurt and the
mourning for the earth and her people,
her animals,
as hatred, as war, as pollution mars
her glorious face,
I love You first.

You, Dearest Redeemer, Deliverer,
sent some of Your angels to watch
over us-
in frosted nights,
and in spring's awaited rebirth,
Truest One, my heart in reverence
to You,
I love You, always first.